He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
by FlashFiction
Summary: George gives the eulogy for his brother, Fred. Friends and family gather to remember a man who died as he lived; smiling.


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This was written for The Sibling Rivalry Competition. The title of this story comes from the song of the same name.

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not, nor will I ever own Harry Potter. I am merely an admirer of the magical world that J.K.R has created. The world that she has kindly let people, like myself, play around in.

George Weasley stared out the window intensely, though he wasn't really looking at anything. His light brown eyes just gazed out into the distance, scanning everything in sight, but taking nothing in. Today he would farewell his better half.

From his perch on his bed, he could see people shuffling into the marquee. They were all dressed in black dress robes.

"Penguin robes!" Fred would have said, if he had been there.

But Fred wasn't there. If he was, then this whole thing wouldn't be taking place. George sniffed and stifled a tear.

"No waterworks today, Georgie!" he told himself.

His mother would shed enough tears for all of them, though she was trying to be strong. George didn't want her to feel like she had to keep a straight face for him. His mum had given him, given them both, so much and with little thanks. Today, George would make sure, that she could lean on someone, if she needed it. Dad would help, he knew.

"Good old Dad." George thought, with a sad smile.

He was so solid, so dependable, always there when he was needed. Just like Fred had been.

George's mind turned slowly to his brother, the brother he would never laugh with again. The memory of his face, laughing even in death, was always in George's head. He had kept himself busy over the past few days. He found that when he stopped, the idea, that he was desperately trying to run from, would creep into his thoughts and rake it's poisoned fingers through his brain.

But there was no escaping the idea today, no pretending that maybe, just maybe, Fred would come striding into the room. Fred was lying in a coffin, on a table, out in the yard. And he was dead. _Dead_. It hadn't really meant much, until George had seen his father and three older brothers setting out the chairs beneath the marquee. They hadn't used magic. It then dawned on George, that this _really _was happening! Fred was dead and they were going to be bury him. His brother, who he had known for twenty years, was about to go in to the ground and he would never see him again.

George got up off the bed and wandered to the wardrobe. Hanging off it, was George's own Penguin robes. They were black and long and smelt like mothballs. He sighed.

"Why are you not dressed yet?"

Molly Weasley, George's mother, had crept around the door and was now standing with her hands on her hips.

"You'd better get a move on, young man!"

"I don't want to go." whispered George.

"Well, you have to!" his Mum replied, venomously, "you're giving the eulogy!"

"I don't want to wear these robes!"

"GEORGE WEASLEY, PUT THOSE ROBES ON, OR, SO HELP ME, I-"

"IT'S NOT WHAT FRED WOULD HAVE WANTED!"

Molly stared, shocked at her son's outburst. George was visibly shocked as well. They both stood still; Molly staring at George, George staring at her, defiantly. Molly hung her head.

"I didn't know what he would've wanted." she whispered, "My own son and I don't know enough about him to know what he would've wanted. It kills me. It kills me that I didn't think to ask more questions when he was alive, because-"

She paused, her soft brown eyes glittering with tears.

"Because I thought we had more time."

She turned out of the bedroom, not making eye contact.

"Wear what you like." she said, as she left.

George felt ashamed for losing his temper, when he was so determined not to put extra stress on his mother. He turned back to the wardrobe. Reaching inside, he pulled out his bright green dragon hide suit. With a pang of guilt, he put it on. His mother might be disappointed, but this was Fred's day not her's. Looking up at the ceiling, George made a silent prayer.

"Fred," he thought, "this is your stupid funeral, so you have to help me get through it! Don't leave me out there on my own, mate! Stay with me."

He walked to the door and as he did, he caught sight of a small, colourful object, caught behind the fireplace. He reached a hand in and pulled out an orange and purple sweet. A Puking Pastille. George grinned and for a moment he didn't think of Fred's departure. Instead, he thought of all the crazy things he and Fred had done together and this gave him strength. As he walked out of the room, he thought,

"Thanks Fred."

There were many people that George knew, all sitting quietly beneath the marquee. There was his family of course and Harry. Hermione cried silently as the Master of Ceremonies talked softly. Lee Jordan sat a few rows behind them. Aunt Muriel was being uncharacteristically quiet, not even complaining when she was seated at the edge of the tent. The Gryffindor Qudditch team sat at the very back, past and present members alike; Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnston, Alicia Spinnet. A few Hogwarts professors had turned up. Professor Flitwick, his feet dangling above the chair. Beside him, Professor McGonagall, her face blank and her mouth pursed, as if she was sucking a lemon. At the end of the row, Madame Hooch wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

When the Master of Ceremonies finished talking, George knew it was his turn. His feet heavy, he made his way up the steps to the stage, where Fred's body lay, concealed in a wooden coffin. Looking out over the crowd, George took a breath and started to speak.

"Fred," he began, a lump rising in his throat.

"Fred? How can I begin to describe the person that we all knew and loved. He was funny, always good for a laugh and always wanting to do things, just to make other people smile. He was loyal. He would always stand up for his friends and the things he believed in. He was brave. Fred was, is, the bravest person I know. And he was modest!"

George laughed.

"If Fred was here now, he'd be so embarrassed to hear all the wonderful stuff people have said about him. 'Coz he was always just one of the guys."

George wiped away a tear, that had snuck from his eye.

"And if he was here now, he'd tell me to pull myself together and stop crying over him. He wouldn't want us to mourn the fact he died, he'd want us to celebrate the life he lived. He lived a great life, be it a short one. And, if I really think about it, Fred isn't dead. He lives on, in the hearts of the people he touched. He'd probably hate me for the cliche, but as long as I walk this earth, he'll walk beside me. He will always be my brother. I'll still laugh with him, I'll still cry with him, I'll still share the news and ask for advice, because I know that, where ever he is, he's listening. I know that, where ever he is, he still has that crazy energy that he had when he was with us. And I know, he knows that we love him."

George stared out at the sea of people before him. They were all crying, but beneath the sadnesses there were smiles. Smiles, as they all remembered the brother, son, friend, pupil and team mate that had impacted their lives. As George walked down from the stage, he had one more thing to say. Looking at the sky, he whispered,

"Give 'em hell, Freddie!"


End file.
